


i studied the blade

by arahir



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Intervention, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protective Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arahir/pseuds/arahir
Summary: Keith's new hobby is getting out of hand. Team Voltron stages an intervention.Shiro looks between them, confusion crinkling his nose. "Have any of you... been in his room recently?""Hooo boy," says Hunk. "Yep.""You've—seen it?" Shiro asks."Oh, buddy," says Lance. "We've seeneverything."





	i studied the blade

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.

It's been a week since they got Shiro back, and everything's coming up roses for Keith—or whatever the Altean equivalent is.

He hears door to his room slide open, looks up from the notes he's scribbling. It's Shiro, and his presence is a luxury Keith doesn't take it for granted for a second.

"Hey." He smiles, softly. "You okay?"

Whatever Shiro's about to say dies on his lips as he gives the room a quick once over and then shoots Keith a _look_.

It's an expression in the grey area between concerned and bemused, eyebrows quirked upward, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. It's in Keith's top five favorite Shiro expressions, but it's one he usually reserves it for Lance, whatever Coran is trying to pass off as food that day, and Slav— _never_ Keith.

He sits up on his bunk, setting his notebook aside. "What's up?"

Hopefully it's nothing too bad. Since they got Shiro back they've had a run of good luck and he's—well. He's been happy.

But Shiro doesn't answer. He's looking around Keith's room again, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It takes him an unsettlingly long moment to work up to speech. Dread uncurls in the pit of Keith's stomach.

"This is—quite the collection." Shiro says, finally. His voice is too loud, oddly pitched; it sounds like a question.

Keith glances around absently. He's used to it, but it is—a lot. "Oh. Yeah, I started picking them up after you left. Pretty cool, huh?"

Shiro swallows with an audible click. "Cool. Yeah."

He looks down, and then at Keith, and then away again, like he can't decide where to settle his eyes. It's bizarre, alarming. Keith stands and steps in front of Shiro, placing a hand on his prosthetic arm, using the disadvantage of his height to catch Shiro's eyes.

"Shiro?" he asks, voice soft. "What's wrong?"

Shiro closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. And then he shakes his head, opens his eyes, and smiles. It's painfully sweet. "No—nothing. Everything's fine."

He reaches up and brushes a lock of hair back from Keith's face, fond and familiar, but as he does, his gaze catches on something over Keith's shoulder and—his eyes go wide. He takes a quick, stumbling step back from Keith, catching himself on the open doorway. He pauses there on the threshold, looking like he wants to say something but can't figure out what. And then he turns and jogs away, footsteps echoing down the hallway. He's _running_ , Keith realizes.

Keith stares after him.

_What the hell?_

 

-

 

Hunk, Pidge, and Lance are together in the kitchen when Shiro flies through the door at mach speed. He's going so fast he has to catch himself on the edge of a counter to keep from colliding with the wall.

Lance whistles. "That was close. Where's the fire, man?"

But the look Shiro gives them is pure panic, and it has them all on their feet in an instant.

Shiro shakes his head, catches his breath. "It's not that. It's—I was just in Keith's room."

Lance whistles again, low and leering, and Pidge shushes him as they settle back in their seats. They all share a glance—yeah, they know exactly what this is about.

"And how is our resident blade master?" Lance asks. Hunk snorts, and Pidge mutters something that might be _oh god_.

Shiro looks between them, confusion crinkling his nose. "Have any of you... been in there recently?"

"Hooo boy," says Hunk. "Yep."

"You've—seen it?" Shiro asks.

"Oh, buddy," says Lance. "We've seen _everything_."

 

-

 

It's widely agreed to be Lance's fault, in the end. That's objective fact. Even Lance doesn't dispute it.

It starts after he and Hunk liberate a planet with the help of the Blade of Marmora. It's an incredible fight, and he's riding high in the aftermath. There's not a thing wrong with this kind of life, he thinks, aside from missing his family, not being able to form Voltron, and Keith's weapons-grade angst seeping all over _everything_. 

That's what he's thinking about when he sees it, and it's like _destiny_.

One of the aliens has a sword and it's—wicked. Objectively awesome. Blades aren't really his thing, but he knows a cool sword when he sees one. A moment of inspiration strikes and seizes him. He leaps forward before he can lose it in the crowd.

"That's a cool blade," he says, aiming for casual and almost hitting the mark.

The alien looks surprised, but delighted. He holds it out to Lance. "Here—it's yours, Paladin."

Which is precisely what he wanted, but—

"Wait, are you sure? It's not like a—family heirloom or something, is it?"

The alien shakes his head, amused. "No, Paladin. It's just a blade. I'd be honored to know you carry it."

Lance bows and thanks him—and takes a few more selfies of himself posing with the sword, just for good measure.

When they get back to the castle, he heads straight for Keith's room. He's in there, because of course he is. Why spend time socializing when you can split your time between training yourself to exhaustion and being emo over your missing—friend?

"What's up?" Keith asks when he opens the door. He doesn't invite Lance in. Rude. Lance pushes his way inside and brandishes the sword at him, _en garde_. Keith folds his arms, but then his eyes seize on the blade and _—gotcha_.

Lance flips it like he'd practiced on the way back and holds it out to him, hilt first. "Picked something up for ya."

And there it is, a little sparkle of life. Keith takes the sword in both hands, reverent. He runs his fingers down the blade. It's white, like bone, the hilt wrapped in red cloth. The whole thing is curved and hooked in odd places and Lance was right. Of course he was right. Keith loves it.

He glances up at Lance through his bangs and eyelashes, and it's that sweet look he usually reserves for Shiro. Well, Shiro and dangerous alien daggers, evidently. Lance is flustered despite himself.

"Thanks, Lance. It's incredible," he says.

And again: " _Thank you_."

 

-

 

It's like they've been living with a cursed Rubik's Cube, and they've finally figured out the trick to solving it. It was Lance's idea, but soon all three of them are competing.

The game is simple: find something cool and alien that technically qualifies as a blade and give it to Keith. The prize is that he doesn't look heartbroken and bereft one hundred percent of the time. More like sixty percent, and they're working on that.

Pidge finds him a dagger that looks like it's made of glass, and he holds it like it's something sacred before he gives her a small smile. Hunk one ups her with a pilfered Galra dagger—not luxite, still cool, and Keith looks dangerously close to moved. Then, not to be beat, Allura and Coran dig up a ceremonial Altean falchion for him—it's a buster sword, by any definition—and Keith almost _glows_. And on and on it goes.

 _This is good_ , Lance thinks. _This is healing._

They catch Keith practicing against one of the robotic dummies in the training room, wielding a blade that looks straight out of a Gothic horror video game. It's not one they gave him, so he must be picking a few up for himself.

It's incredible to watch. Lance knew he was _good_ , but this is something else. Their blades clashes at a speed almost too fast to watch, sending up sparks with every hit. Maybe it's the Galra blood, he thinks. Or maybe it's that Keith spends six hours a day doing it.

They watch by the door, not exactly hiding, but not wanting to interrupt. When Keith's done, he wipes the sweat off his brow and pulls a little notebook out of his pack, scribbling down who knows what. Does he keep stats? Nerd.

All this time, Lance thinks, all he needed was a hobby. Which—isn't exactly true. It's like taping a band-aid on a suspension bridge that's missing half its supports and calling it traffic-safe.

But it's a start.

 

-

 

What it's the start of, it turns out, is a complete mess. A _situation_ , Allura dubs it delicately.

Keith's collection grows, and grows, and _grows,_ until one day Coran enters the common area looking pale as a ghost and reports that he can't walk in Keith's room to clean it anymore. Which is fine—Keith can clown his own damn room—but implies an unsettling density of clutter. Lance is unsettled, at least.

Hunk sticks to his guns that it's none of their business, but Pidge decides she has to see it.

"Curiosity killed the cat," says Hunk, like he's been keeping that little nugget of fortune cookie wisdom on hold for them ever since they left the Garrison.

 _Story of our lives_ , Lance thinks.

Pidge isn't moved. "Satisfaction brought it back," she says and walks out, just like that.

She's gone for five minutes, top. When she steps in the room, she looks as pale as Coran did. And _what the hell.  
_

"Satisfied?" asks Hunk.

Pidge sits down on the couch, so hard it makes an audible _oomf_. S he takes off her glasses and wipes them on her shirt absently. Lance flashes back to every cop drama his sisters ever made him sit through.

"What's the verdict, chief?" he asks quietly.

She puts her glasses back on and gives him a dead look. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's bad. It's... real bad."

Forget Pidge—at this rate Lance is literally going to die of curiosity, but he also feels that it wouldn't be prudent to go pull this particular tiger's tail. Especially when that tiger is in possession of several dozen knives—a knife tiger, if you will. So he sets about convincing Hunk that they need to go check on Keith together, for Keith's sake.

"It's what Keith would do for us," he lies..

"No, he wouldn't. He'd mind his own business, which is exactly what we should be doing. Does Keith even know where our rooms are?"

Ah, rats. "No, but—it's what Shiro would want. We owe him that much." It's dirty pool, and Hunk gives him a look that says he knows it, but then he sighs.

"Ugh. Fine."

By the time they get to Keith's room, Lance is almost vibrating with excitement and apprehension.

They knock and wait.

"What is it?" Keith asks, the door slides open, and—

Lance can't even come up with a passable lie, his brain is so fully occupied with what he's seeing. It's like a dozen Renaissance paintings are superimposed on each other, but every single cherub, angel, flowing garment, and cloud has been replaced with—swords. The room behind Keith is wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, _covered_ in blades. They're hanging on the walls, leaning in corners, lying on his bunk. There are open boxes of knives, on which _more_ knives are stacked. It's hard to even see the walls and floor

Lance feels his jaw drop, sees Hunk's do the same in his peripheral.

They've miscalculated, fatally. This isn't a few swords, or even _many_ swords. This is —an uncomfortable amount of swords to even consider the existence of, let alone see in one place.

And then Lance realizes, horrified, this isn't _one_ place. It's _the_ place—the place where he _lives,_ the place they all live. This is his home, and there is no chance with all they've seen and learned that none of those swords are cursed or haunted or capable of independent movement and thought.

 _We're all going to die_ , Lance thinks, and it's a simple fact.

"What is it? " Keith asks again, clearly frustrated. "Did you want something?"

"Uhh—nope!" Hunk stutters. "We just wanted to check where you were and, uh, here you are! We're going!"

Hunk grabs Lance's arm and drags him away from the door, at speed. Lance doesn't protest.

From there, it's all down hill.

Coran tries suggesting to Keith that he might like to move the collection to another room—" _It's a castle, after all. Plenty of rooms!"_ —but Keith declines without looking up from the wicked longsword he's polishing to a mirror shine on the couch in the common area.

Coran parries and counters with an offer to move Keith to a different room—a better room, a _bigger_ room—but that gets declined, too.

That's when they know they're in trouble, because it's one thing to be in possession of so many weapons that you could equip both sides of multi-national battle royale with two swords per man, but it's another thing entirely to sleep in the same room with them all.

It gives Lance the heebie jeebies right out.

"Do you think he holds them while he sleeps?"

Pidge rolls her eyes.

"What a man does in his bunk is his own business," Hunk says, one hand raised, like this is an oath they all took when they entered the Galaxy Garrison, which it definitely was not.

So it’s all pretty weird and everyone is mildly uncomfortable, but as long as they don’t go near Keith’s room, it’s livable.

 

-

 

And then one afternoon, Coran reports over the intercom that Keith has just wormholed out to an Unilu trading colony—a black market trading colony—in a sector crawling with Empire ships.

They have a quick argument over why Coran let him go in the first place— _"He told me it was for science!"_ —and then decide that the only wrong choice of the two they have is to go after him, because the only thing worse than one lion and her loose-cannon Paladin gallivanting through Galra controlled space is five.

When he comes back, they're all waiting in the hangar. Lance has his hands on his hips, tapping his foot for effect, privately ecstatic to be able to pull a Mom-level move on Keith. 

But then Keith steps out of the black lion, and he's got four tote bags slung over his shoulders, full to bursting with knives, daggers, scimitars, dirks, and _swords._ There's even a few strapped to his back, wicked long and—

"How are you _carrying_ all that?" Lance asks. Keith shrugs and re-positions one of the bags, glancing around at them.

"Is... everything ok?" he asks.

"Er—Yes?" Allura shoots Coran a panicked side-eye.

Coran steps up, bless him. "Everything is fine! Just fine. I just wanted to—check what you wanted for dinner," he says, lamely.

Keith squints at them all. "You all wanted to know what I wanted for dinner. Really." He rolls his eyes, like they're the weird ones in this situation. "Anything is fine."

And then he hefts the bags higher and walks away. They watch him go, staying quiet until he's out of earshot.

"Oh, god," says Pidge. "What is he _doing?_ "

 

-

 

By the time they finish apprising Shiro of the full width and depth of the rabbit hole, his eyes are doing that sad, introspective thing. It's compounded by the scar over the bridge of his nose and the shock of white hair, to devastating effect. And then he looks at them, and he's—disappointed.

"He was upset, so you just—what? Gave him _weapons_?"

"Well, yeah," says Hunk. "I mean, when you put it like that—"

But Lance isn't here to be lectured about what was a perfectly valid and logical approach to dealing with Keith. Keith, who is at best less than half of one human's worth of normal. It's not their fault he ran with the idea and kept running, right over the proverbial cliff.

"It worked," he argues. "He loves them! It worked too well, if anything."

"He's not a _dog_ ," Shiro says. There's a thread of anger in his voice. "You can't just give him toys and expect everything to be fine."

"Buddy, you're telling me. If he was a dog we wouldn't be having this discussion." A dog Paladin. God, that's brilliant. Lance glances at Pidge, who nods imperceptibly. They're gonna make this happen, one way or another. There have to be dogs in space, right? There are space mice and whatever Laika was, so—

"We did talk to him."

Hunks words pull them up short.

"He was...really upset after you disappeared," Hunk says, downcast. "We talked to him, but—I mean, he's not exactly cuddly."

Lance waggles his eyebrows at him and mouths _dog paladin_. Hunk frowns and shakes his head. Lance shrugs.

"Well," Shiro says, standing up. "You all contributed to this, so I think it's only fair you all help me talk to him about it."

 

-

 

They get to planning.

Well, Lance and Pidge and Hunk get to planning. Shiro spends most of his time looking pensive, until Lance is about thirty seconds from suggesting he write Keith a heartfelt love letter and put them all out of their misery.

Evidently Alteans have never heard of an intervention, because Coran and Allura are fascinated and excited by the prospect.

It's all hands on deck. They agree to get it done as soon as possible, right after Keith finishes his first work out of the day—which is conveniently right around when the rest of them are finishing breakfast.

They're ten minutes from mission critical. Allura and Coran are standing by, looking a little giddier than the occasion typically calls for. Lance is sitting next to Pidge and Hunk, who looks almost as apprehensive as Shiro does when he walks in.

"Okay, he's on his way," Shiro says, and the sighs, pained. "Guys, I thought I said no posters."

They all look up—it's in Altean, which somewhat diminishes its effect, but the care that went into it is evident, and no one likes to dissuade Coran when he gets on a roll.

Lance picks up one of the hors d'oeuvres that Hunk made. Space food grows on you, once you get used to it, he thinks, and pops it into his mouth. "You can't have an intervention without a poster," he says around it.

Shiro sighs again. "It's not an intervention," he says, exasperated. "I just want us to talk to him about this in a place where he feels safe."

"Uh, that's literally the definition of an intervention," says Hunk. He's not wrong.

"What's an intervention?" Keith asks from behind Shiro.

_Oh, snap._

Shiro wheels around, the closest to sheepish they've ever seen him.

"Nothing is!" he says. He clears his throat. "We just wanted to have a—discussion."

Keith's still in his black and grey training clothes, hair still tied back. He sits down on one of the couches, opposite the rest of them. He has that look on his face, the one that says _I'm skeptical and stubborn and two seconds from walking out_. But it's Shiro talking, so maybe he won't.

"Okay... A discussion about what?"

Shiro steps in front of Keith and squats down, takes both Keith's hands in his own, and—Lance is loving this. He grabs another bite.

"Some of us are _— concerned_," Shiro begins, and then stalls.

He had a week to think about what to say but still can't spit it out. Well, suddenly their relationship makes a lot more sense, Lance thinks, and mentally buckles in, because they're going to be at this _all_ day.

It's Pidge that puts them all out of their misery.

"Your sword collection is freaking everyone out, man," she says, easy as that.

Keith look at her, startled. "It's—what? Really?" He looks around the room at everyone, and there's something hurt in his eyes.

Shiro groans and shoots a glare at Pidge.

She glares back. "Yeah. It's getting weird. I get that it was a coping mechanism, but—" She gestures at Shiro.

Keith frowns. "What does Shiro have to do with—it's not a _coping mechanism_." He looks down, embarrassed. "That's —it's just, I thought, we keep encountering all these really unique cultures, and most of them use blades still, but they're so _advanced._ Like, the knives the Blade of Marmora use. It's like they're activated by genetics or _thought_ , or I don't know, and then I thought maybe that's true for other cultures, and I just. I was curious."

Well. That's—unexpected.

Pidge puts up both hands. "Wait, wait. Wait. You're doing this for _science?"_

"Yes—mostly." He shoots Coran a betrayed look. "I told you."

No one knows what to say to that. Shiro's the one that's supposed to be giving cues, but he's busy staring at Keith, fondly. There's a small, wry smile playing over his lips, and his eyes are so soft it feels rude to even be in the same room with them.

But nope, nice try. Lance isn't going to let this stand. "Uh, that doesn't actually fix anything? He's still sleeping with a LARPer's dream stash? That can't be healthy."

Allura and Coran share a confused glance, mouthing _LARP,_ and—someone else is going to have to explain it.

Keith glares at him. "I'm not sleeping with them," Keith says, like he's actually offended. And okay then, do Galra not sleep? Is that a thing? That can't be a thing.

"What? Where are you sleeping?" Lance asks. "Please, tell me you sleep."

"Yes, I _sleep_."

Keith looks away, red dusting his cheeks, but doesn't offer more. The silence stretches until Shiro makes a small, strangled sound from his place on the floor and hides his face against Keith's knee, and _oh my god_.

It's dropped jaws, all around. No one says a word, probably because they're all in the same position as Lance, trying desperately to wrestle this new knowledge into a form that doesn't require him to picture it in his mind, even as he feels heat rise in his face. It's not—bad.

Allura blinks several times and clears her throat, patting imaginary dust off the front of her dress. "Well, I think I'll just—give you all some time. This has been a _fascinating_ exploration of Earth's traditions. Coran?" And she's not even trying to not sound sarcastic as she walks out, Coran hot on her heels.

That leaves Pidge, Hunk, and Lance sitting there in various states of regret and disbelief. Shiro's still hiding his face— _coward_ —while Keith eyes the ceiling disinterestedly, like his face isn't as red as the stupid cropped jacket he usually wears. And then he puts one gloved hand on the back of Shiro's head, comforting.

Hunk stands up. "Yeah, I'm out," he says, and walks away muttering something that sounds like _told you it was none of our business_ , and hey—this wasn't even Lance's idea.

Pidge stands too, but instead of leaving, she puts a hand on Shiro's hunched shoulder. "Hey, I'm happy for you guys," she says, looking between them.

Shiro sticks his head up, finally. "Thanks," he says, voice a little rough. Pidge smiles and nods and walks to the doorway, pausing to give Lance a _look_ and jerk her head at him, pointedly. Like this isn't the common area, the area that  _all_ of them should be able to use whenever they want. Whatever. He gets up to follow her.

Keith and Shiro are still looking at each other and—ugh.

"You do know that this hasn't solved anything, right? We're still going to get murdered by some kind of evil, sentient, soul-stealing sword, right?" Keith rolls his eyes, and Shiro shrugs, like he's accepted that reality as part of having Keith in his life.

"Okay, great, just checking."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> You can talk bad Voltron memes with me on [tumblr](http://arahir.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/arahir)!


End file.
